Icy Apologies
by VampPhan
Summary: Another take on the graveyard scene. What does Erik have to say? And Christine? Is she still as naive, and he as fridgid? One-shot. after other two stories completed, may be continued


**AN: Just a one-shot I thought of while I was lying in bed. Don't worry, I didn't write this at three in the morning, I took my time with it, so it's not random and stupid. This is set right after "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again", and I personally visualize the movie version, but you can (obviously) imagine whoever you like. **

**Icy Apologies**

Christine kneeled before the fridgid cold steps to her father's crypt, shivering in the snow. She wrapped the black cloak tighter around herself and closed her eyes.

_This won't be the last time I visit Father's grave, or sing to him, but this is the last time I will childishly fantasize about his returning...along with the Angel. Father __was __ the Angel when I needed him, but I do not need guidance anymore. I am moving on, like Father always wanted me to., _she thought to herself, placing a bouquet of roses on the granite steps before her. She started to stand, when a voice humming a slow, sweet melody echoed in the midst, so soft Christine could almost believe it was her imagination.

But as realization slowly hit her, she felt the heat rise angrily to her cheeks.

"What do you want?", she half-shouted, half-whimpered to the sky.

_"I think you know perfectly well what I want, Christine."_, the silky voice whispered, in such a tone Christine almost felt warmth wrap around her. As quickly as it came, the warmth left, replaced by the bitter coldness of the winds beginning to howl.

The mauloseum's black iron doors slowly started to creak open, and a reddish glow emitted from the inside. Christine felt heat coming from the small building, beckoning her to come in from the cold.

_No--he won't lure me in. I am not as naive..it won't work twice!, _she thought, at first stubborn, but then at the same time she panicked about getting frostbite or hypothermia and not making it back to the Opera in time. The snow and winds weren't getting any friendlier, and at last, with a cry of desperation, she bolted into the crypt.

Inside, a few torches had been lit, illuminating the coffin of Monsiuer Gustave Daae, sealed shut. She tried not to look at it, and for a moment just relished in the feeling of warmth returning to her body. Oh, what a relief...

Suddenly, she realized something, and started looking around her warily, turning slowly clockwise. The torches created shadows that made her even more frightened than before.

_Where are you...I know you're in here somewhere, Erik..._, she thought, almost muttering it aloud. There was a slight 'woosh', as if something had just flown past her...

"Feeling any better?", his voice asked, right behind her. She flipped around, face-to-chest with the last person on earth she wanted to see.

"Physically, yes. Emotionally, no. Doesn't really matter to you what _I _feel, does it?", she daringly spat. When she looked up at Erik's eyes, she was shocked to find no enraged flame, no expression of shock at her defiance. Instead she only saw the most pained expression across his face she had ever seen. The flickering lights that she had witnessed before in those emerald irises had faded, almost clouded over. She felt like breaking down then and there, but remained stone-cold.

_This could be another tactic of his--guilt..._, she suspiciously mused silently. She was breathing heavily, looking for a single flash of deceit or even triumph in his expression. That is, what she could see of it.

"Well?", she curtly urged him to speak. There could be a sign in his voice, there always was. Erik looked down for a second before finally asking, "Well what?"

"What do you want?", she demanded. He bit his lip and sighed.

"I'm here to be perfectly honest with you, because I know that's all you want...the truth. But I would like to start with a question of my own: Why? Why did you even begin to lead me to believe that you could care for me, possibly even...", he choked on the word. "...love me, and then turn around so you could throw it back in my face and run off with the Vicomte? Why?"

She almost laughed. "Isn't it obvious?", she seethed. "Did you honestly think that murder was going to gain my affections?! If that weren't enough, you lied to me for nine years straight! Why do you THINK I rejected you?!"

He took a step back as if he'd been slapped. Her words definitely stung as bad, if not worse.

"I...I did do both of those things and I'm sorry for it...but will you stand to listen to my explanation?"

"Humor me."

"Alright. I lied because I wanted you to be happy, as well as make myself happy for even communicating with you. I pitied how you were never joyful, because your father's angel had not arrived. That look on your face when you thought that the Angel had arrived...I just wanted you to be that content as often as possible. Later, that turned to shaping your career, which also benefited us both..", he trailed off. "Everyone has lied to make someone happy before, and I'm sure you have done it too, and do not regret it. That is as much reasoning as I can say."

"Buquet....", she urged him on.

"Yes...the stagehand. Despite what you may think, I do not kill for sick pleasure. ", he said, his voice starting to show reawakened anger. "I killed him because he was a lecherous dog who I knew for a fact spied on you and the corps de ballet changing--"

"Like you didn't!", Christine suddenly burst, now even more furious. " I'm not dense, I know that mirror served another purpose other than an inventive way to make a door!"

"To see you, yes. But in such an improper way, no. Never. I may have done some awful things, but none of them towards a lady. Now, may I continue, or not?"

She looked away for a moment, and submissively nodded, the flaring red in her cheeks fading. He coughed as if to remind himself of something and continued in a lighter tone.

"As I was saying, even thought I regret it now, I had my reasons for Buquet's death. Like I said, he was a lecher, he did not even do his job correctly, spending most of his time drunk, and he would not stop snooping around searching for me. It was only irritating until he once caught me off-gaurd and got a considerably good look at me: maskless. Then it was infuriating. And lastly those idiot managers needed to be taught that it is, indeed, MY Opera House.", Erik finished, ending with a final, sharp voice.

Christine looked back to his eyes to see if the grayness in his eyes had left yet. No...though Erik expressed many emotions in the time elapsed, his eyes still showed only sorrow, hurt, and regret. There was at least a full minute until he began to speak again, whispering to himself.

"We had something...and it was not just my hopeful fantasies. We could have had everything we wanted, nothing would be denied to you...", he murmured, taking a step closer, yet still at a safe distance. "I would be anything you wanted...your teacher once again, a lover, a poor dog ready to die for you..."

Christine couldn't speak--there were too many wrong things to say. She just stood there as he quietly spoke. She just stood there as a spark of hope slowly returned to his eyes. She just stood there as he got closer and closer...

Until their faces were about three inches apart and Erik fell silent, looking down at her in a sad way. He took a breath and parted his lips but still said nothing.

"Don't do this to me....", Christine sighed, slightly shaking her head.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like I'm the one to blame. I know I did what I thought was best and...I don't like feeling vunerable and weak and guilty and..."

"Sh...don't be.", he soothed, but then caught himself and took a step back again. "Do you want me to stay or go? I can completely disappear from your life if you wish it. If that's what would make you happy, I'll do it. Anything you want...", he reassured her.

"I...I have to think about it in the long run...but for now, can you stay? I don't fancy the thought of being alone in my father's mauloseum when there is a storm outside."

He weakly smiled, at least a little relieved. This was at least a start...

**AN: Let me know what you think!**


End file.
